


Crimson & Clover (over & over)

by LaurytheLatrator



Series: Sapphic Jisbon AU [1]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always-a-lesbian!Lisbon, Always-a-woman!Jane, F/F, I'm not sure how else to say it, POV Lesbian Character, Technically Patricia Jane, they're ladies in love, wlw!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s no fool; Lisbon knows the symptoms, even if she’s never experienced it before. The first time she whispers it to herself in the dark, <i>“I love Patricia Jane,”</i> she sighs and buries her face in the pillow. No tears come, but they might as well, because her feelings of helplessness and hopelessness are overwhelming. If ever there was a more doomed romance, Lisbon had never heard of it. The Capulets and Montagues had nothing on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson & Clover (over & over)

 

 

 

Teresa Lisbon always knew there was something different about her. When she first watched Sleeping Beauty and told her mother she wanted to marry a princess like Aurora, her mother had paused, a stricken look on her face, and then said, “Honey, princesses can only marry princes. Let’s promise not to talk about this with anyone else, okay?”

By the time dad first raised a hand to her, Teresa was good at keeping secrets.

He died, and her brothers moved in with their mother’s parents, and Teresa fled for California. Nothing changed; not the way she wanted women, not the way she was indifferent to men, not the reminder of Hellfire that hung around her neck. Officer — Detective — _Special Agent_ Lisbon threw herself into her work. If there were women, now and then, whom she took to bed, she made it a point never to save their names or numbers. Some people get married and have babies, others make careers for themselves. Lisbon didn’t get a choice.

 

* * *

 

“I cleaned myself up,” The blonde says, gesturing down at her new attire. Gone is the wrinkled blouse and sweatpants of yesterday. Now she wears a crisp linen dress to her knees and a smart dark blazer, and, somewhat incongruously, she’s paired the look with a charcoal vest. Looking at her now, Lisbon can see a sliver of the charlatan, the fake psychic, the woman who could charm and deceive and trick.

Before she flew too close to the sun.

_Dear Ms Jane, I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your husband and child._

Patricia Jane says, “You can call me Trish.” Lisbon doesn’t outright say it, but she can’t imagine calling this woman ‘Trish’. This is objectively the most gorgeous woman she’s ever met; pale blue eyes, high cheek bones, a light tan, loose blonde hair that curls naturally into waves down her back. Patricia is apt, because she seems to be a tier above Lisbon, on a pedestal. Which is why Lisbon will make the effort to call her Jane, just Jane.

When Jane leans down to hug her, and Lisbon smells floral hotel shampoo, it’s all she can do to pat the woman on the back and extricate herself without embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

Her team quickly proves to be the best there is, in Lisbon’s opinion. She’s worked with enough cops to know quality. Her former partner, Kimball Cho, is competent and cool under pressure. And he’s rather what she imagined an older brother to be like. Wayne Rigsby is kind and empathetic, and is learning diligence. He’s eager and Lisbon is fond of him despite the time she has to spend correcting his paperwork.

The newest member of their team is Grace Van Pelt. She’s young and inexperienced, but she’s got brains and talent, and soaks up everything like a sponge. She’s also beautiful in a classical way, as if she could have modeled for Vermeer. Lisbon notes this in an abstract way and then carefully sets it aside.

Then there’s Jane. Against all odds and expectations, the former psychic slotted in nicely to the unit. Quick witted, perceptive, bold to speak her mind, and she holds herself with a casual ease that belies the wreck she’d appeared upon first meeting. It goes against everything she’s learned about trust, namely _not to_ , but there’s something beguiling about Jane. Both intentionally and not, the woman begs her to lower her guard.

Lisbon won’t fall for it. She’ll worry about her safety, sure, but Jane is her subordinate. There’s no need to make things personal.

 

* * *

 

Jane is broken and twisted and vile.

“We've never discussed this because I thought it went without saying,” She says, looming over Lisbon’s desk, uncharacteristically somber, “But when I catch Red John, I'm gonna cut him open and watch him die slowly.” Jane waits to observe the effect of her words. Lisbon straightens in her chair and attempts to conceal her sudden tension. She follows, her tone gentle, but firm in the reminder of her righteous justification, “Like he did with my husband and child. And if you have a problem with that, we should talk.”

Lisbon spreads her hands, palms up, and her voice almost breaks on the last word of, “Then let’s _talk_.”

It doesn’t go well. Jane insists that she is set in her ways and no amount of proselytizing will change her mind. After holding hands and jumping off a porch and sprinting through the rain, Lisbon isn’t really interested in proselytizing. She’s more interested in the way Jane shakes out her sopping wet hair and laughs like she’s never heard before. She’d do anything to keep Jane smiling and laughing like that.

This is that slippery slope she’s been hearing about.

 

* * *

 

When Lisbon learns that Jane is living in an extended stay motel, things make a lot more sense.

Jane wears essentially the same outfit every day. She’ll exchange the beige linen dresses for light blue cotton now and then, but the vest and blazer are constant. Jane never wears makeup; even Lisbon finds comfort in concealer and blush and mascara. Her hair grows wild and Lisbon’s seen Jane run her fingers through it enough times to realize that’s the only brushing it receives. She wears no jewelry save for her wedding ring.

It’s a drastic departure from the old Jane, the one Lisbon has furtively researched. That Jane is stunning in all conceivable ways; body-con dresses under bright white jackets, pure gold hanging around her neck and down her wrists, sleek pin-straight hair, and expert contouring and coloring of her face.

She understands when Jane slithers uncomfortably away from a victim’s family’s praise. It’s a punishment. Any luxuries have been discarded, even the luxury of a suitable bed. It takes one dig through property records to discover that Jane has retained ownership of her family’s Malibu home.

_…dirty money-grubbing fraud…_

Lisbon puts it firmly out of her mind.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t see it before,” Jane mutters, her gaze still following Sam out of Lisbon’s office. Lisbon bites into the bear claw, relishing it after the chaos of the last few days.

“ _Admit it_ ,” Jane had said in her hypnotist’s voice, “ _You still dance to that Spice Girls’ CD._ ”

Drowsy and suggestible, Lisbon replied, “ _Yeah… I liked Baby Spice._ ” The memory of Jane’s soft ‘ _hmm_ ’ makes her blush now, and she allows her hair to mask her from Jane’s view.

“He’s in love with you,” Jane says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Lisbon chokes on her pastry.

“He is _not_ ,” She says, shooting Jane a playful glare. It has to be a joke. Sam Bosco was her partner in SFPD, her mentor, _and_ he’s married. He can’t feel that way about her.

Jane holds up her hands and takes a step back. “I know, I know,” Her grin is devilish, “And I thought he was a detective.”

“Hush!” Lisbon throws the bag from Marie’s, but Jane catches it and backs out of the room. She takes a breath in her absence and continues reordering her desk. Jane is being ridiculous. Just because she and Bosco have this rivalry over the Red John case doesn’t mean she has to throw around accusations like that. It’s childish and exactly like her.

Her last remark sticks in her brain. Does Jane know… It sounds silly to even pose the question. Maybe in the first year she could deceive herself, but after this week the truth is unavoidable: there’s no point in lying to Jane. She always knows.

 

* * *

 

Jane carries herself with a confidence and poise, not to mention her smile, that draws people helplessly to her. It isn’t her fault. Men and women lean towards her like sunflowers, their eyes bright and begging, hands dancing as close as they dare.

Jane shrugs them off with ease.

“I’m sorry, I’m married.” The glint of gold as she lifts her hand says a thousand words.

It’s been years now and the answer is always the same. Jane doesn’t date, not that Lisbon can figure. She’ll flirt with whomever it suits her, but it’s with an ulterior motive, usually the case they’re working. It another tactic of manipulation.

There have only been a few moments when Lisbon has wondered if Jane’s genuinely interested in a person. When the psychic Kristina Frye casually invited Jane to dinner, ostensibly to discuss the psychic game and get to know each other, Jane stuttered as if being asked on a date. Lisbon doubts that was Kristina’s intention but… Which way does Jane swing? She’d married Andy Ruskin, she must be attracted to men.

Then why the twinkle in her eye whenever a woman approached her? Moreover, why does she slide that twinkling gaze to Lisbon every time?

 

* * *

 

“Walter Mashburn must be disappointed.” Jane’s voice should never be a surprise. It’s late, Walter’s case is wrapped up, and Lisbon is gathering her things. She shoots Jane a look over her shoulder but doesn’t otherwise engage. “Didn’t he ask you to dinner?”

“Yes,” She replies shortly. Jane saunters into the office, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but she’s humming with tension.

“A charming millionaire wants to take you out and spoil you, and you have no interest?” Lisbon finally faces Jane's wry expression. Is this the moment, she thinks, when the truth comes out?

“Walter is very sweet,” Lisbon says, absurdly pleased that Jane’s grin diminishes, “And when he’s back in the country, maybe we’ll get lunch.”

“But dinner is off the table,” Jane summarizes, tilting her head and sending a cascade of curls down her shoulder. Lisbon shrugs, lifting her briefcase. She intends to breeze past Jane, but her gaze catches on the other woman’s face, and she freezes. The playfulness has fallen away. “I wish you would be honest. If not with me, then with yourself.”

Lisbon breathes out. Squares her shoulders. Counts to ten.

“Good night, Jane.”

That night she goes to a bar in a small corner of town and leaves with a tall, curvaceous, blonde. As she’s doing it, she knows it’s because of Jane. The suggestion that Lisbon isn’t honest with herself had stung. She knows who she is. It’s her choice not to advertise.

When Lisbon kisses the blonde goodbye the next morning and goes to their next crime scene, she avoids Jane’s eyes. It’s pointless; Jane always knows.

 

* * *

 

Moments pile up between them, words said and unsaid.

“ _Friends can dance_ ,” Jane says, holding out her hand, “ _You can pretend I’m some cold, distant boy from a teen movie_ …”

Her soft murmur as she looks aside, “ _If I were dying, I’d call you_ …”

“ _B-beautiful, like a-a princess,_ ” Jane never stutters and Lisbon never flushes down to her chest, but there they are, “ _An angry little princess, someone stole your tiara_ …”

It’s getting harder and harder to pretend their relationship isn’t special. She and Van Pelt don’t go out for meals in the middle of the day, or to the gun range after work, or spend time lingering around the office just to talk. In fact, it would be wildly inappropriate if she were fraternizing so heavily with a subordinate.

Jane is different. Whenever she pisses off a suspect, Lisbon comes running. Whenever she gets the scent of Red John, Lisbon recites her words of caution off the yellowing script. Whenever she drops her mask to be vulnerable, Lisbon drops everything to prop her up.

She’s no fool; Lisbon knows the symptoms, even if she’s never experienced it before. The first time she whispers it to herself in the dark, “ _I love Patricia Jane_ ,” she sighs and buries her face in the pillow. No tears come, but they might as well, because her feelings of helplessness and hopelessness are overwhelming. If ever there was a more doomed romance, Lisbon had never heard of it. The Capulets and Montagues had nothing on her.

“ _I could tell she liked him, she was meaner to him than the other kids_.” Then she adds, conversationally, to the whole team, “ _You know, like Lisbon is to me_.”

 

* * *

 

Lorelei had said, “ _We were lovers, she and I… did she tell you that?_ ” but hearing the words from Red John’s mistress wasn’t the same as listening to Jane and Lorelei themselves.

“You kissed her!” Lisbon hisses, after pulling Jane into her office. The listening device is still set up incriminatingly on her desk. Jane rolls her eyes and stands tall, making use of their height difference.

“Yes, and I’d kiss her a thousand times if it meant she’d tell me who Red John is.” She states firmly. There’s no hesitation, no remorse, and Lisbon hardly recognizes this cold creature. Jane has never been so close to victory and yet she’s defeated, clearly, to have given up her soul and not realize the cost.

“Jane, you don’t have to debase—“

“I was attracted to women before I met my husband,” Jane interrupts hotly, “And I’ve been attracted to them since. Don’t put your catholic guilt on me, Teresa.”

That remark flashes her back to the church. Eyes shut she had prayed for so many things, Jane's safe return primarily, ending in the familiar request for forgiveness. Her ultimate sin of the flesh, of the heart, was one she never left out confessing. And then Jane’s mocking voice echoed through the hallowed walls and nearly gave her a heart attack.

“This isn’t about me!” Lisbon retorts, mostly believing it. “She is _psychotic_ , indulging her isn’t going to get you anywhere, you’re playing into her hands, both of their hands!”

For an instant Jane leans in, looming. “We’ll see.” Then she sweeps out of the office, presumably up to the attic to brood.

Neither of them mentioned what else went on in the interrogation room.

“ _I think_ ,” Lorelei drawled in that high, girlish pitch, “ _You do it to be close to Teresa Lisbon. I think you’re a little bit in love with her._ ”

 

* * *

 

After Lorelei, there’s a change in Jane.

“ _Teresa, you can call me Trish_ ,” She slurs, still under the influence of whatever hallucinogen she drank despite the stomach pump.

“ _I was hoping it was love_ ,” She remarks after her theory on the gleam in Lisbon’s eye is disproven, “ _You deserve happiness, but I’m glad for you anyway._ ”

“ _We take same-sex couples as well, just fill out that form_ ,” The radio receptionist tells them. Lisbon stifles her snort, privately wondering if they’re that obvious.

Jane keeps stuffing her pockets with complementary candy, “ _Oh no, ours is more of a platonic love._ ” They share a loaded glance, an inside joke neither will bring attention to.

Because although they both know there is a connection here, there is so much standing in their way. Even if Jane were a normal woman, Lisbon couldn’t bring herself to come out to her bosses and colleagues and embark in a relationship with her consultant, her very much _female_ consultant. Though the political landscape has evolved from when she was in the Academy, Lisbon has so much to lose, and that route brings nothing but.

And then Jane will never be normal. She carries her family like an albatross, only they hang from her finger rather than her neck. The constant threat of Red John lingers over them both. They're closer to catching him than ever before, and it's because they're working together every step of the way.

Lisbon knows that, in spite of her moral objections, Jane can’t find peace until the serial killer is dead. When Jane’s peace and Jane’s desires and Jane’s happiness had taken precedence, she isn’t sure. In the ways that matter, Jane has eclipsed all else in her life, even her tattered, lingering faith.

The end hurtles towards them at an alarming pace.

 

* * *

 

The sunset. Jane needed to pull over to watch the sunset. Lisbon has spent the entire drive planning and dreading arriving in Malibu, and now she’s looking over the rocky outcrop at the coast. Now she has to watch Jane’s hair billow in the breeze and reflect the burning light and wonder if she’s going to survive the night.

The object of her furtive glances speaks lowly. “There’s something I want to tell you, Lisbon. Something I should have said a long time ago.” Lisbon drops her gaze to Jane’s dress rustling around her calves. It’s white today, and that feels significant. She wears the same charcoal vest that ought to be grimy but always smells clean.

“I want to thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

This feels too much like a goodbye, so Lisbon interrupts. “You can thank me later.”

“No, I…” Jane takes a long breath. “I have to say this now.” They take a long pause, soaking in the last rays, as if they’ll bring them strength. Lisbon can’t escape the thrills of fear crawling down her spine. Is this the moment the final walls come crashing down? “You have,” Jane sucks in air, stalling, “No idea what you’ve meant to me.” She turns her head for the first time, and Lisbon is pinned by her blue eyes. They convey everything she’s dared to hope. Jane’s dry lips part as she sighs. “What you mean to me.”

A response is lodged in her throat, but Jane wraps her arms around her before Lisbon can get it loose. In their many years of partnership, Lisbon can count the times they’ve hugged on one hand. This is unlike any of those. This is not a hug, this is an embrace. Jane envelops her senses, every one, and Lisbon can’t think for how good it is. The only thing better would be to take Jane’s chin and bring her mouth to hers and take those chapped lips.

When the thought becomes too persistent, Lisbon pulls back, curling her lips in so they won’t try and disobey her. Jane’s smile is sad, fond, and knowing.

And then she leaves.

 

* * *

 

The Blake Association is revealed to have infiltrated the highest points of California’s politics and law enforcement. Red John is unmasked as Sheriff Thomas McAllister. McAllister is found lying dead of a gunshot wound and evidence of strangulation. The FBI begins a manhunt for Patricia Jane.

Lisbon bobs in the wake of destruction. Wayne and Grace start a family and Cho enlists at Quantico, but Lisbon takes six months to pull herself together. The first step comes when Jane’s old carnival buddy Sam tracks her down with a unmarked envelope.

_Dear Lisbon,_

_Forgive me. I meant to say ‘Forgive me for waiting so long to write’ but couldn’t bring myself to get to the third word. There’s so much I should apologize for, but I don’t have enough paper. Use it for your top issue._

_I needed to wait until I settled. I’ve stopped running. I have a small apartment and money. I won’t tell you where, but know that I’m safe. And I’m by the ocean. Hardly anyone speaks english here and I’m the only blonde, but people know better than to pry. I’m sure I project some damaged intensity you’re familiar with._

_I’m going to build a life here. And as much as I’d rather be building a life with you, I hope you can carry on without me. I promise to write._

_Be well Teresa,  
_ _U no hoo_

 

* * *

 

After two years apart, Jane looks very different. The first striking change is her hair; the long waves have been chopped off. Now her hair curls beneath her ears and down the back of her neck. She’s left her vest behind with her old life. The dress she wears is a light breezy material bearing muted florals that floats down to her sandals. Her skin is tanned a darker shade, which only emphasizes the sharpness of her eyes.

Her grin when Lisbon stands is also new. Her joy is not tempered by any memories. She is no longer shadowed by ghosts.

“Nice haircut,” Lisbon says on a giggle, because she’s overjoyed too. Jane’s “Thank you,” is soft like a murmur, so she replies in kind, “Thank you for the letters.”

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” She sighs and throws her arms around her. Lisbon is crushed by her hold but wouldn’t budge for the world.

“I’ve missed you too,” She says into Jane’s shoulder.

Two years and she hasn’t been this happy.

 

* * *

 

After a rocky start, Jane and Lisbon settle into the FBI. It’s not the same as the CBI, but maybe that’s for the best. Neither of them have to worry about moles and traitors and who to trust. Lisbon isn’t in charge, that’s Abbott’s job, so wrangling Jane isn’t her problem. Their new coworkers seem nice enough. Lisbon wouldn’t trade working with Cho again for anything.

She can see building a life in Austin.

The problem is… any desire Jane may have had in sharing that life appears to have burnt out. They see each other at Headquarters, fleetingly as Jane is often partnered with Fischer, and then Lisbon goes back to the single story house she’s renting and Jane goes to her silver bucket. After two years you’d think she’d be used to missing Jane. She hadn't realized she'd be missing her only a few miles away.

 

* * *

 

“You’re an idiot,” Lisbon tells her. Jane’s shivering under the large towel, her mop of curls still wet, in the back of the SUV.

“So you’ve said,” Jane acknowledges. The way her teeth keep chattering almost softens her resolve. _Almost_.

Lisbon takes her eyes off the road a moment to speak into the rearview. “If you’d told me what you were up to, we wouldn’t have had to search the whole pier.”

She’s irritated Jane enough that she drops the meek apologetic pretense. “Oh please, as if you really thought I’d be seeing Crystal for her looks.” A microexpression must flit across her face because Jane does an honest to God double take. “Really? If nothing else I thought you’d expect me to have better taste.”

“Fischer asked me if you had a type,” Lisbon confesses. “The only people I could think of were mysterious and murderous women, so I said she’d have to ask you.” There’s an uncomfortable pause and her mouth just decides to take off. “Crystal’s orientation was in her file and it’s difficult to meet like-minded women in Texas, okay? I figured you probably had an ulterior motive, but I wouldn’t blame—”

“Have you been looking?” Jane breaks in, her voice somehow steadier than it had been before. Maybe the teeth-chattering was an act. “For like-minded women in Texas, I mean?”

Jane’s never been this overt. The last overt reference to Lisbon’s sexuality had been during the Fifi Nix case, when she played subtle matchmaker to the Drag Mom. Lisbon wants to retort that her dating life is none of her business, but neither of them would buy it.

“I'm keeping my ear to the ground,” Lisbon hedges. This is true; she'd even put out feelers on her run-in with Kim. More interested in shared company than a date. Nothing biting there it seemed. “The FBI has explicit nondiscrimination clauses so I think, if I were to find someone, I'd be safe.”

Jane coughs, and she glances over in concern. The medics had cleared her but Lisbon still worries. “Glad to hear you're being diligent.” Lisbon rolls her eyes and drives faster. Conversation grinds to a halt after that.

They don't bring up that night again. If Lisbon wondered at Jane’s coolness the following weeks she doesn’t let it show.

 

* * *

 

Mariel Pike comes out of nowhere. One day they're partners on an art sting, orchestrated by Jane, of course. The next, Mariel is asking her out, bravely, explicitly, and Lisbon can't find a reason to say no. Jane bounding over hopefully not withstanding.

A week passes and they're tumbling into bed. Mariel’s pantsuits are mixed into her laundry. Lisbon keeps waiting for the moment she breaks it off, but finds it never comes. Mariel may wear her black silky hair in a strict pony tail, but she has dimples and laugh lines and smiles like there's no tomorrow and no yesterday. She's easy to understand because she speaks her mind. She's been out for most of her life and she's more composed and confident than Lisbon could dream.

Lisbon had never realistically pictured herself with a girlfriend, but the first time she hears Mariel mention her casually over the phone, “ _Yeah, I’m at my girlfriend’s place across town, I’ll be there in 20_ ,” it settles over her like a warm blanket. She’s carried her roles like armor all her life: the good daughter, the big sister, the team leader. Girlfriend is both new and familiar. She’s got a script, she knows how to play it, it won’t be hard.

They don’t hide anything, and although they don’t flaunt PDA at work, their coworkers know. Lisbon nearly had a heart attack the first time she heard Fischer commenting on their relationship to Wylie. But both of them sounded positive, which was a small relief. Cho, _god_ , her partner for so long, had said only, “She seems nice. Tell me if I have to kick her ass, I've got no problems with that.”

If Jane has something to say about it, she’s keeping it to herself. As Lisbon’s said in the past, that tends to make her nervous.

 

* * *

 

It comes out of nowhere, and yet later Lisbon will berate herself for not anticipating. The dark restaurant, cloth napkins, the light teasing, it was all too comfortable to last.

“They’ve asked me to move to DC,” Mariel admits, looking up from where she’s hanging her head, “So I told them no.”

Her stomach is rolling with conflicted feelings, but she manages to say, “You can’t. It’s a great opportunity, you can’t turn it down.”

Mariel meets her gaze, gentle yet determined. This is a Real Adult Conversation she’s about to have. For the first time in their relationship, Lisbon has the urge to run.

“I’m not a kid, Teresa,” She begins, in her slightly accented low roll, “I know when something’s real. I feel that way about us.” Then she hesitates, nerves breaking through, as if she isn’t sure she wants the answer. “Do you…?”

Lisbon fires guns regularly. She faces down criminals twice her size. She knows adrenaline in the way her heart pumps, and her ears ring, and her focus narrows.

Should she be this frightened?

Doesn’t being afraid mean this is serious?

Her gaze darts to the left when she murmurs, “Yes.”

There’s relief in Mariel’s face when she shuffles forward across the table. “I’ve learned when you feel that way about someone, you have to hold onto it. Because,” and her smile turns rueful, “It doesn’t happen often.”

Yes, for all that Jane manages to lock on to every morally and sexually ambiguous woman around, Lisbon has a harder time finding someone to connect with. Mariel is sweet and brave and _honest_ and just maybe Lisbon could try being happy for once.

 

* * *

 

Happy.

“ _If you’re happy…_ ” Jane shrugs, not meeting her eyes; she’s rarely telegraphed her discomfort this obviously.

Is she happy?

“ _All I want is for you to be happy_ ,” She confesses, close to tears, " _And that is the most important thing to me, that you do what makes you happy_.”

Could she be?

“ _Don’t go_ ,” Jane says over her white teacup, “ _Don’t break up the team_.” Her inability to reply due to a car wreck between her brain and mouth is smoothed over instantly when Jane claims to be kidding. “ _I’m happy for you, really._ ” She says, and Lisbon thinks, _are you?_

_Are we?_

 

* * *

 

Lisbon races down the steps of the Bluebird Inn, her face flushed and blotchy and still damp, her suitcase thumping behind her. Her phone is in her hand and it takes no effort to call the one person she needs now.

“Mariel, it’s me,” She speaks sharply into the phone. There must be a taxi stand nearby, because the cab is pulling up just five minutes after the front desk called. She abandons the luggage to hurl herself into the back seat. “My answer is yes, to all of it.”

Mariel’s proposal was hardly what young Teresa would have expected of a princess. “ _It’s legal in DC, Teresa, we can make this official, start our lives together._ ” But then Lisbon was no princess, no matter how many pink dresses she tried.

“Yes!” She hears Mariel exclaim. She can be so childish sometimes, so exuberant, so fun. Lisbon wants none of it. She shuts her eyes and lets the phone fall away from her ear.

“ _I just don't want you to leave_ ,” Jane admitted, defeated, more than Lisbon had ever heard her. Another act? Another con? Another lie?

How does Jane keep managing to break her heart?

 

* * *

 

It happens much the same.

_You're right. I have forgotten how to act like a normal human being. I play games and I lie and I trick people to avoid the truth of how I feel. And the idea of letting anyone close to me is terrifying, for obvious reasons. But the truth, Teresa, is that I can't imagine waking up knowing that I won't see you. The truth is... I love you. You can't imagine how good that feels to say out loud, but it scares me... and it is the truth. It is the truth of what I feel._

_And I know you’re going to hate me for outing you so publicly and dramatically, and that’s fine, that’s okay, I'll live with it. I needed to get to this and you needed to hear it._

_I love you, Teresa. And it makes me happy to be able to say that to you._

Lisbon isn't sure of much once the TSA agent escorts her off the plane. She knows her badge is examined and Abbot called to corroborate their story. There is a promise to compensate her for a free ticket to DC once they are finished questioning her.

She declines.

 

* * *

 

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” Teresa asks. She’s Teresa when they’re laying in bed like this.

It’s not the Bluebird’s lush king size beds; Lisbon had checked out and Jane’s room was declared a crime scene. This is a motel set between the airport and the Rent-a-Car. Tomorrow they have to start driving back to Austin, as Jane is unsurprisingly banned from air travel for the time being.

“It would have hurt you,” Jane, because she still can't think of her as Patricia or Trish yet, murmurs as she strokes over Teresa’s shoulder. “I wanted to avoid that, but obviously failed. My plan was to make you realize you had feelings for me so that you'd choose to break things off with Pike, rather than feel like I was forcing the issue.”

“You mean you were going to seduce me.”

“If you want to get technical.” Their eyes meet and Jane becomes more serious. She can read the regret and sorrow in the lines on her face; time has passed neither of them over. “I'm not a good person, Teresa.”

She won't lie to Jane. “Not always.”

“How…” Jane starts to ask, then cuts herself off by burying her face in Teresa’s neck. “I’m so lucky.” She says nothing as she cards her fingers through the short curls on the back of her lover’s head. She understands what Jane said and didn’t say.

Jane is deeply flawed. Teresa hadn’t pulled her punches during their fight at the Bluebird and she hadn’t apologized for it. Jane conceals the truth more often than she reveals it and is proud of that ability, has consistently made her living off of it. This is the woman who brought the FBI to its knees. This is a woman who’s gone through Hell and isn’t afraid to use her dark side.

She recalls recoiling when Jane first revealed her intentions for Red John. That she accomplished her goal, that Lisbon was complicit in that, haunted Teresa for some time. The guilt faded, as did any moral recriminations she may have felt for Jane. At the time, setting up shop in Canon River, she’d wondered why. Why did she forgive Jane for this sin?

The answer she found was in the way her heartbeat changed when she saw the envelope bearing Jane’s letter. It was in how she needed to commit the words to memory to make them feel real. It was in her sighs as she pictured Jane, always longhaired in her mind, strolling along a foreign beach.

She felt something for Jane that she never felt for anyone. Her heart knows, wants to repeat Jane’s trembling words on the plane, but Teresa won’t. A whisper alone in the dark is not the same. She hasn’t said those words to anyone who wasn’t blood, and even blood has betrayed her. She couldn’t say it to Mariel and she was about to uproot her life for her. Not that she hasn’t done that and more for Jane.

For now the lovers lie together. They’ve got two weeks before they’re expected back at work. They make the most of it.

 

* * *

 

For all that Jane projects confidence, Lisbon discovers a trove of insecurity.

“ _Are you ashamed of me?_ ” She asked, a funny half smile on her face, followed closely by, “ _It’s fine if you are, I understand._ ”

She hadn’t needed to explain to Mariel why she wanted to keep things quiet at work. Mariel had undergone that time in the closet and knew it was a difficult transition. Jane married a man young, and was an adult with no one to answer to when she publicly expressed interest in women. It was a difficult bridge to cross.

And then the mess with Jimmy started.

Her tight, flippant, responses are cut down with a single serious, “ _Do you want me to come?_ ”

Jane was fully prepared to let her shoulder this burden alone if she so chose. But Lisbon had been the struggling sister all her life. She was ready to accept help, ready in a way she hadn't been when Tommy and Annie blew into Sacramento all those years ago.

At first Lisbon didn't really consider the particulars of bringing Jane to Chicago. That is until they’re in Stan’s hallway, Jane stiffly holding her left hand behind her back, and Lisbon says, “Stan, this is Trish, my…” and feels it like a wreck that you see coming but can't avoid, “...friend.”

Everything changes in that moment. Karen enters holding one of her nephews. Jane stuffs her hands in her pockets and sidles away from Teresa's side. It's nearly natural, the sort of move she makes when investigating someone's home for a case, but Lisbon can feel the chasm between them erupt. They're the only two can see it, so while Stan makes small talk about his work and Karen puts the kids down, it's like they're being eaten alive from the inside. At least that's what Lisbon feels, she can only guess what's lurking behind Jane’s mask.

As they leave to look for Jimmy, Teresa throws out her arm. “I'm not ashamed of you.”

“Of course.” It's quick like a snap, but her tone is mild.

“My brothers don't know about me,” Teresa goes on, the oppressive houses of her childhood neighborhood boring into her. “About what I am.”

“It's your choice, Teresa,” She replies in the same unreadable tone. “I'm not going to out you.”

“I know you wouldn't, I…”

They've reached the car, and Trish turns. “Then what's wrong?”

What's wrong, Teresa thinks, is that Trish is unhappy. She'd wanted to be welcomed to a family, something she hasn't had in a long time. She'd hoped that Teresa had shared their relationship with her family, that their happiness had overpowered her latent fear.

What's wrong is that Teresa feels the urge to do anything to make Trish happy again.

She shakes her head. “Let's bring that idiot brother of mine home.”

 

* * *

 

“We like her,” Jimmy says, arm slung around Stan’s neck, jerking his head towards where Trish has wandered away to the kids. Her nieces and nephews (minus Annie who is with her mother, and too old to fit this generation) play with their catholic school friends, some of whom were christened as well today. The smoke of barbecue is heavy and the people are loud and boisterous. Her brothers are getting along and they're out of trouble for now (Teresa knows where Trish’s poker winnings have gone this time).

For all that she should be relaxed, Teresa can't help swallowing as she says, in her high voice, “Who, Trish?”

“Reese,” Stan says, a little bit of steel in his voice, “Cut it out. We know she's not just your friend.”

Her mouth moves wordlessly, and she draws her arms in. Jimmy stampedes over any protests, “I told Stan you'd tell us yourself, but I hadn't counted on my big sis being chicken.”

The jig is up. She'd expected the fear but not the relief. “How long have you known?”

“There's only so many excuses you can make for not bringing someone to Thanksgiving or Christmas,” Stan points out. He's still smiling, they both are.

“Tommy swears he knew since you turned Greg Tayback down for prom,” Jimmy added with a smirk. Teresa punches his arm. “Ow, quit it, slugger.”

It strikes her that she had no reason to be so scared. This may be Chicago, but it's not the 80s anymore. They're at a christening, but neither of her brothers are condemning her to Hell. They're her family. She changed Jimmy’s diapers and punched the first girl to break Stan’s heart. She's the one who called the ambulance when Dad beat Tommy near to death. They may have broken down communications after she moved to California, but they love her, just as Jane said.

“Fine,” Teresa says, as if this isn't the most intimate moment of their adult lives, “She's my girlfriend, okay?”

“Good,” Stan laughs, “Try to keep it that way.”

Teresa looks over to see her _girlfriend_ hoist a baby into the air. She always was so good with kids. More than that, she's radiant as she plays, cheerful and loving and every good part of her. Teresa's heart swells.

“I will.”

Later when she's dragged Trish away from the festivities, and Trish makes a comment about the Lisbon brothers being good people, with that heavy carnie emphasis on _good people_ , Teresa brings it up.

“I told them about us.” There's no way to tell that Jane’s attentiveness has increased, but she can feel that it has. “They told me to hold on to you.”

“Well I'm…” It's difficult to fluster the unflappable woman, but she's managed. “I'm very grateful.”

Teresa hums at her wording; grateful. As if every step that should come naturally in a mature relationship was a boon she was bestowing on the undeserving Jane. This was a woman who would carry on in their holding pattern indefinitely if she thought it was what Teresa wanted.

She hadn't missed the frequency of Jane’s _I love you_ decrease the longer it went unreturned.

“I haven't said this,” Teresa stutters out, leaning closer and angling her gaze down, as if this too is a secret, “There's a lot I know I haven't said, because… I don't know if I need to. You always know what I'm thinking.”

“Well not everything,” Trish murmurs. It's a soft guilty admission that also confirms Teresa's fear. It had been comforting to imagine Trish already knew the depth of her feelings. But _I feel the same way_  can only go so far.

“Would you be surprised if I said I love you?”

The answer, it turns out is yes. Later Teresa murmurs it between Jane's thighs. _I love you,_ her tongue whispers against flesh, hearing the reply in Trish's gasp, _I love you._

 

* * *

 

Life carries on. Cases come and go. Friends do too.

Jane leaves. She comes back.

She's different after this extended retreat. There's a sense that a jagged edge has been smoothed, or an uneven piece shifted into place. The calm she'd acquired on the island has returned full force.

Lisbon could understand needing time alone. She could understand wanting a change of scenery. Hell, she'd needed to taste the pacific air like it held all the oxygen left after her father died.

Is this how it’s going to be forever? After every crisis, every fight, every bump in the road, she'll wonder, ‘is this the time she isn't coming back?’

So she speaks up.

“I need to know you’re committed to this, to us,” Teresa says, sitting on her front porch, Trish lying with her head in her lap. Easier to be on her turf, as fraught with memories as this house was, when she said this.

Trish twists her ring as she stares at the crystal clear Austin sky. She never seems to realize her fiddling is not a private gesture. It sends pangs to Lisbon’s heart every time.

“How would you feel about a house?” The words drift out of Jane like notes from a music box, light and airy and drifting up and up and up.

Teresa combs through Jane’s short curls as she repeats, in her high voice, “A house?”

“Yeah, four walls, a couple windows, a roof. Well…” She shrugs against Teresa’s knee. “That part might be debatable, the realtor said there was some significant weather damage, but between the two of us I think we could patch it up. A lesbian from Chicago, there’s no way you don’t know your power tools, Teresa.”

“Back up,” Lisbon demands, glossing over that last remark, “Start from the beginning. You bought us a house?”

“I inquired. The truth is, I didn’t want to buy it before speaking with you. I don’t want you to think me presumptuous.” She swallows, shifting on Teresa's thigh. “It's an hour drive to HQ, so it's a bit removed. No more 6th street or food trucks. Smaller than this house, and with the aforementioned damage, plus you've still got 4 months on this lease…”

Teresa can barely speak around the lump in her throat. “Let's see this shack before passing judgment, okay?”

Trish neglected to mention the pond, and the ducks, and the wide expanse of woods and grass that would also be theirs. Teresa bears down on her on the old dusty porch and christens it right then and there.

 

* * *

 

Abbott brings it up first, cornering Teresa in the kitchenette. “Did you hear the ruling?”

“Yes,” Lisbon says without looking up from her coffee. Even if she were straight it'd be impossible to miss.

“Equal marriage is legal across all 50 states,” Abbott declares with pride, “Nothing they can do about it.”

“They're trying,” She points out, “Did you hear about the Texas courthouse that shut down rather than issue licenses?”

Abbott waves her point away. “They'll be ordered to comply or face charges. It's done now.” Lisbon hums, rather than commit to optimism. Her boss waits a beat before adding, “Have you considered what this means for you and Jane?”

“It's only been a day,” Lisbon objects, her cheeks slowly turning red.

“You've been living together for months now,” He reasons, “You must've considered marriage to make it official.”

No. Teresa may have been a good catholic girl but marriage had always been out of her reach. Even following the Supreme Court case it had felt impossible. Unless… did Jane want that? To be married again? To start a family all over?

Abbott, shrewd as they come, notes the revelation on her face and backs away with a parting remark. “Well, no matter what, I'm glad this day has finally come for you.”

 

* * *

 

The pond is illuminated by the white Christmas lights Jane strung up over the porch. The reflected light reaches far enough to the airstream parked on the hill. That's where they sit, looking over their property. The house is slowly being converted to livable, the last stage is hooking up running water in the bathroom. Which makes the airstream the best viable place for love making; at least it has a shower.

Looking at the dancing shimmers on Trish's content face, she wonders if the motivation behind their passion was the same.

“Jane,” She speaks softly, her throat creaking. Her lover hums and glances over with her eyes only, body angled at the water. “I love you.”

Trish’s smile grows slowly, as it had in the TSA detention suite. “I love you too.” That's all Jane appears to expect, resting her cheek atop Teresa's head. She's not done yet.

“We've been together for over a decade, and while we haven't been _together_ together, I loved you for most of that time anyway.” This is where Jane would normally say ‘Me too’ or apologize again for the factors outside her control that kept them apart. She stays silent, sitting up and shifting away enough to look at her. Her face has drawn somber. Her brilliant mentalist knows where this is going and reveals nothing of her emotions. It terrifies her. “I've seen you at your worst, and you've seen mine, but we've also become so much more than that. I am happier than I ever thought possible, Jane, and that's because of you.”

As she finds breath, Trish croaks, “Likewise."

“I would never ask you to forget your past. Your past is what brought us together, and I am so glad you had love in your life. I want that for you, for us. I want a future with you, to give you all the love I can, if you'll let me.”

Teresa inhales, and lets the words rush out, “Marry me, Jane.”

The love of her life takes her hands, both of them bundled up in hers, and Teresa has less than a second to process the warm smooth skin devoid of gold before Jane is saying, “Yes, Teresa, yes," and pressed into her mouth, " _Yes!_ ”

 

* * *

 

The next morning Teresa wakes alone in the airstream, and as she stretches a pamphlet falls onto her lap.

_Adoption Services in the Greater Austin Area._

She smiles, touching the ring that hangs alongside her cross, both worth so much more than gold.

Jane never did anything by halves.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this retelling because I was intrigued by a Lesbian!Lisbon and I need to see more beautiful wlw stories played out with as much depth as the Jane/Lisbon romance on the Mentalist. I realized as I was rewriting Jane as a woman that there really is no difference to the character, but that I had rarely seen such a deeply flawed female on TV, certainly not one portrayed in a sympathetic light. Jessica Jones is a good contender, and so different from Jane, and I can't wait for more diverse, flawed, women in media.
> 
> If you liked this story, I ask that you check out my other Mentalist works. I love this fandom so much, I don't know how I'll ever stop playing with it.
> 
> This is dedicated to my mother <3


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